Part of Hermione's Haven Off The Beaten Path Crossover Exchange.

Prompt: Hermione knew that portkeys were usually made of things muggles wouldn't want to pick up, but she was always picking up after the boys since they'd been stuck on the run in the tent, how was she to know a seemingly harmless piece of trash would catapult her across time, space, dimensions, and realms? Now she's found herself in a world not her own.

Pairing Choice: Hermione Granger/Jon Snow

This doesn't have spoilers, but it does take place after the finale of GoT.

I do not own Harry Potter of GoT.

Let me know what you think in the reviews!

What Winter Brings

Hermione huffed as she took in the boys shared room in their tent. Clothes lay everywhere; scattered knickknacks concealed enough to make it interesting for anyone barefoot. And the smell, Merlin the smell was enough to attract Fenrir through her wards, Hermione was sure. She didn't want to know what the smells were. How did two boys give off so many different aromas, anyway? Hermione didn't even want to be in here, but Harry had borrowed one of her books and while he was wearing that cursed locket he was not cooperative. His suggestion to her when she'd asked about it was to come in here and find it herself.

Well, that was exactly what she was going to do.

She was well used to picking up after these two. It gave her more motivation to find all the Horcruxes, so they could end this damn war. Hermione could take being hunted. She could live with the secrecy and fighting. What she could not live with was becoming the default camp mother of two teenage gits, because they were too lazy to do things themselves. Her mother had taught her the importance of doing her part early on in life, and it horrified her that more people weren't brought up that way.

Hermione was grumbling, gingerly searching through a mountain of discarded clothes when she jabbed her finger on the pointy end of a quill. Hissing in pain, she brought her hand up, dismayed to find the quill still poking into her skin. She felt a build-up of magic, a familiar feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. Eyes wide, she looked around for anything that could be trying to transport her. Her eyes landed on the quill hanging from her pointer finger. Panicking, Hermione moved her hand to shake it off, but it was too late. With a near-silent shriek, she was pulled from her spot with the portkey.

She closed her eyes, pulling the quill in her hand close to her chest. She couldn't lose it now. Who knew where she would end up if she let go? Merlin, she didn't even know where she was going. How had there been a portkey in their tent? And such an unassuming one at that. Quills were not made into portkeys. They were used too frequently to be considered safe portkey objects. Probably to prevent this from happening.

Not a moment too soon, Hermione landed on her back. She immediately curled into a ball against the frigid air. Was she lying on snow? Where had this thing taken her that she was in the middle of winter? A violent shiver raced through her, Hermione realizing that was the least of her worries. She was only wearing a fall jacket with a long-sleeved sweater and jeans. Her trainers had started to wear from continuous rough use, and she could feel the near holes in some places. It hadn't been cold enough in the Forest of Dean for heavier clothes, not yet. If she didn't find some type of shelter, she was going to die from this freezing air.

Slowly, the cold had already seeped into her bones, Hermione stood from her position on the ground. She cast her gaze around for any clue as to where she was, but all around her, it was white. And not a pretty winter wonderland white either. The wind was harsh, making it hard to see past a dozen feet. She could make out something that resembled trees, but nothing else. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, thinking about what she could do.

There was nothing she could do.

She grit her teeth and shook her head harshly as the desolation that started to creep through her mind. No, she needed to do something. She'd survived Death Eaters and Dementors, Trolls and evil teachers. The list could go on. The cold was not going to beat her, not Hermione Granger.

And just like that, her brain started to work.

Reaching for the wand in her pocket, she breathed a sigh of relief when she found it unharmed. A small part of her had feared she'd find it snapped in half from the fall. If she had kept it in her back pocket like she'd been starting to do, a habit she'd picked up from the boys, that surely would have been the case. Waving her wand over herself, warmth began to spread through her. She sighed in relief, grateful for the reprieve of biting cold. Now, without the cold fogging her brain, she could do something. Picking a direction, Hermione started to walk.

It was difficult. Her worn shoes were not made for this deep snow. It went all the way up to her knees, and she could feel frozen wetness enter through the openings of her trainers. The warming charm helped, but it was not as effective as she would have liked. The wind was simply too harsh. She prayed she found shelter soon. It only she remembered the spell that let her see through difficult terrain.

She didn't know how long she walked, but after a while she sank to her knees on a tremble. She couldn't feel anything past her calves. She'd pulled her sweater up to cover her mouth and nose, leaving her belly protected only by her coat. It hadn't helped. She could feel herself hurting. It didn't help that she had started giving the boys most of her portions of their food once things started running out. Had she been properly nourished, perhaps she could have kept going. But now that wasn't an option. She didn't have the energy to do anything, but tilt to the side.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. The cold was going to beat her after all.

She was trying to find the strength to get up, reach for her wand, anything, when she heard it. It was faint, the jarring gale masking most of the noise. But she was sure she had the sound right. Horse's hooves moved together somewhat unsteadily across the snow, their skittish neighs louder than the reins brushing against one another. Hermione thought she was dreaming, like those people lost in the desert that imagined a water oasis when there was nothing but sand. Of course her mind would start playing tricks on her. She was surprised it could give her any thoughts at all by this point.

Hermione stopped fighting, drifting off into sleep just before a startled rider jerked his horse awkwardly to the side to avoid trampling her.

When she woke, she almost panicked at how restrained she was. She felt cocooned in so many layers that for a second, she was sure she had been captured by Death Eaters. Had Ron and Harry made it out? Was it Fenrir? Merlin, maybe Dolohov had broken the memory charm she'd placed and come after her.

And then she remembered. Braving the boy's room, jabbing herself with a Quill, realizing it was a Portkey. Infinite cold. She wasn't cold now. In fact, she was comfortably warm. She wiggled her fingers and toes, relieved to find they were all there. She realized she wasn't restrained, but wrapped in various furs. They weighed down on her, keeping her warm. She could see that the wind was still blowing, but she wasn't feeling it. From her peripherals, she could see there was fire near her, the flames a bright orange against the night.

She heard the crunch of snow before a long pair of legs and hardy boots filled her vision. The man crouched down in front of her. Curly black hair fell around his face, shrewd black eyes staring at her. No, they weren't black. By the light of the fire, she could see the hints that made up the gray. Either way, the eyes were staring down at her. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Hermione meant to thank him. If he was checking up on her she could guess he was the one to save her from the disaster that had been her arrival. What came out was, "Are you going to say something? Or maybe you'd prefer we stare at each other for eternity."

Somewhere to her right, she heard a loud bark of laughter. The man looked at her in shock before clearing his throat. "Of course not, my lady. I'm relieved to see that you are feeling better."

She grimaced at his choice of title. "I'm not part of the aristocracy." Determined not to have this conversation on her back, Hermione struggled against the furs. They swarmed her petite frame. Her savior gave her a hand, letting his gloved hands reach under the pile and lift her into a sitting position. He reached around her and draped another coarse pelt over her shoulders. She wrapped it around her gratefully. "Thank you. My name is Hermione Granger."

The man nodded in greeting. "My name is Jon…" He seemed to struggle with his next words. The same bark of laughter sounded again, this time continuing until there was hissed wheezing. He sent a glare over her shoulder before gritting out, "Snow. Jon Snow."

Hermione looked at him warily. "Pleased to meet you, Jon… Snow."

In the next moment, Jon transformed from unsure to someone who was used to taking charge. Hermione knew that look. She'd seen it come over Harry in times when everyone had looked to him to lead. "I have to ask. How did you get here, my lady? Your clothing isn't exactly…"

"Appropriate for this lovely winter wonderland?" Hermione replied dryly. "Oh, trust me, my bones are aware of that. And I'm not a lady."

"Hermione," Jon agreed with a small smirk.

She thought about what to tell him. She couldn't exactly break the Statute of Secrecy. "Maybe you can tell me where I am."

He lifted a brow. "Over the Wall."

Well that was helpful. "What wall?"

"The only wall, you daft bint." Another man came into her line of sight. He was huge, red hair covering his head and face. He was the laughter from before.

She glared at him. "I have a name, you stupid git." She promptly ignored his presence, turning back to Jon. "I'm afraid you'll have to explain more. I'm not from around here."

Hermione learned she was actually nowhere near England or the United Kingdom in general. Somehow, someway, the Portkey had taken her across dimensions. She was in a land called Westeros, and she had landed in the part of this world that was always winter. How could it be always winter? Jon and Tormund, the insulting oaf that called her a bint, had been coming back from a hunting trip when they'd stumbled into her. Almost literally. Jon's horse had been set to trample her and would have if he hadn't noticed her hair and stopped the beast.

Because she really had no choice in the matter, Hermione explained to them who she was and where she had come from. They were disbelieving at first, she didn't blame them, but after demonstrating with her wand they were quick to believe her. Tormund wanted to kill her while Jon chose caution. He asked for her promise not to use any magic on them, something Hermione agreed to as long as no one was threatening her. She told them about the quill that had been her Portkey, and while they were dubious about finding it, both agreed to help if it was possible.

A Few Months Later

They never did find that quill, and Hermione was okay with that.

She snuggled up to the warm body that was running calloused fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp on the way down. They were on a pile of furs, a fire crackling softly in the tent they stayed in. She could hear the wind past their camp, but the wards she'd erected around their campsite prevented the chill from making it in.

She pressed her lips to Jon's chest, tasting the slight sweat they had worked up earlier. She'd never imagined she'd find happiness among this frozen wasteland, but she had. She thought about the boys and how they had fared without her. She wanted to believe they had found a way without her. They were smart, even if they gave themselves too little credit. They were fine.

"What are you thinking about?" Jon's satisfied voice asked her.

She peered up at him to find him watching her, a genuinely happy smile on his face. It was small, but it was an improvement over the self-deprecating ones he used to give her when they first met. "About my homeworld. I was just thinking about if they had made it through the war alright. I like to think they did."

He placed a hand on her cheek, bringing her up just a little with his arm. "Do you regret staying?"

Hermione moved until she was over him, taking in the insecurity with his question. Pressing a hard kiss to his lips, she murmured, "Never."

Suddenly, she was rolled over. Jon hovered above her, careful not to put his entire weight on her small frame. He ran his eyes over her, letting his fingers run a trail across her breasts. "Good," he said gruffly before bringing his lips back down on hers.